Lovelight
by natalieashe
Summary: Here is the story of DI Gregory Lestrade, fine upstanding Scotland Yard detective, and Gabriel McInnery, camp goth drug dealing kid - an unlikely tale of two very different men who met and fell in love despite a 27 year age gap and a pair of Holmes brothers.
1. Chapter 1

September 2009

Gregory Lestrade took a deep breath and nervously pushed open the rusted security door at the rear of the derelict shop. It wasn't that he feared what he would find; he just recalled the stench of stale urine and worse from his last visit four months ago. This was the third of Sherlock's hidey-holes he'd visited, and this time he was sure he was on the right track because he'd seen a tall thin wild haired figure in a sweeping coat weaving up the street far ahead of him with one arm casually slung around a skinny youth who appeared to be in a similar unsteady state.

The door squealed loudly on its corroded hinges and he made as much noise as he possibly could when moving through the building to alert its occupants. The last time he'd crept inside he'd had the misfortune to encounter Sherlock in an intimate encounter with a young man, and he had no desire to walk in on _that_ again. When he rounded the corner however they were clearly still oblivious to his presence, though at least they were fully clothed. The younger man had just pocketed a small bundle of notes and was about to press a baggie into Sherlock's hand.

"If your fingers so much as brush that coke I swear to god I'll arrest you Sherlock." He growled loudly into the room making both men startle. "Your bloody brother has had me trailing round half of London looking for you so I know I have his blessing to bang you in a cell for the night and charge you with possession."

Sherlock turned glazed eyes on him, obviously on something but not his usual slightly manic stare when on cocaine. Heroin maybe? He had the slightly languorous movements that might indicate that he'd shot up a while ago and was still drifting. Fuck, that wasn't good, he'd have to report that back to Mycroft and the older Holmes would get mad with _him_ for not keeping a closer eye on him. It shouldn't really be his problem, but you didn't say no to Mycroft-bloody-Holmes, not even if you were a long standing friend and former lover. Apparently a year of fucking almost two decades earlier meant a life-long obligation to look out for a junkie younger brother. That, and the fact Mycroft Holmes had saved his life when he'd been attacked by the same fucking werewolf on the streets of London that had turned the other man six months earlier. Their sexual relationship didn't last, but together they formed a Pack that bonded closer than family.

The junkie brother in question was smiling lazily at him, apparently unconcerned that a Scotland Yard DI had just caught him red handed in the middle of a drugs transaction. At least this time it was actually cash he'd been handing over, not kneeling in the dirt with a guy's dick in his mouth - cash bought more cocaine than a blow job would but sometimes he was a little short of ready money.

"Good evening Lestrade, nice to know my brother's pet policeman is still on call. Don't bother charging me - we both know Mycroft won't allow it - but by all means arrest me and allow me to make use of a cell. I don't have a bed for the night unless your sofa is free?"

Lestrade scowled at the cocky curly-haired man who was swaying slightly on his feet and gripping the shoulder of the wide-eyed youth beside him. "Who's your _friend_?" He sneered. Whether he was Sherlock's dealer or a quick fuck for a share of drugs he wasn't worthy of the DI's respect, but he got a shock when he realised how young the boy was... Eighteen, maybe nineteen at most, too young to be running his own supply, so probably a runner for someone higher. That meant he would be paid in cash only - can't hand sexual favours back to your boss - and would probably have drugs and money on him. Oh well, if he couldn't nick Sherlock he could probably get this one and his supply off the streets for 24 hours. "What's your name kid?"

The boy looked terrified, weird tilted green eyes staring at him from an exotic looking delicate face. His shaggy dark brown hair was a tattered mess and he could do with a good wash but he was a good-looking lad. Lestrade dragged his eyes back to the smirking younger Holmes, irritated by the knowing look in his still slightly unfocused eyes. He slid an arm around the boy - who was marginally taller - and grinned. "This is Gabriel. Pretty isn't he? Sure he'd suck you off in exchange for pretending he was never here." The boy swallowed nervously but gave a weak grin and a half-hearted nod.

"You're a sick man, Sherlock, and living dangerously if you think you can pimp your boyfriend out to get you both off a fucking charge." He pulled his phone from his pocket and hit a speed-dial, waiting a moment for it to connect. When it did he said roughly "Yeah, I found him. Tanner Street shops. You are? Fine, I'll leave him to you." He shoved the phone back in his pocket and smiled sweetly at the dark haired man. "Your brother is right outside in one of his fancy cars waiting to whisk you off to one of his very expensive rehab places. I'm sure he's wasting his time but for some reason the idiot always seems to give you another chance. Now run along..." He shooed him back towards the door, the skinny man suddenly a lot less sure of himself. Mycroft wouldn't shout or scream at his younger sibling, he would just smile in a way that made Sherlock know how deeply disappointed he was in him, and while the younger Holmes would swear and possibly even get violent, in the end he'd go meekly for the simple reason that Mycroft had plucked him off the street yet again, once more demonstrating that he actually cared. Sherlock needed Mycroft's attention from time to time - better to do it before the stupid younger sibling decided an OD was the best way to achieve it.

Once Sherlock had skulked out the only exit Lestrade turned his attention to the youth who was still standing exactly where Sherlock had left him, fingers curled around the small plastic packet. "Put it back in your pocket kid," he nodded and the boy nervously slid it out of sight licking his lips.

"D-do you want me to...? W-will you l-let me go if...? What _he_ said...?" Lestrade stared at him for a moment confused at the boy's stammered question. It was only when he slowly dropped to his knees and reached out a skinny hand towards him that the policeman registered that the kid was offering to blow him as Sherlock suggested.

"Fuck off!" In two strides he was looming over the terrified teenager hauling him to his feet, his fingers biting cruelly into his arm. "Get up!" He snarled shoving him roughly into the wall behind him, one strong tanned hand coiling around the kid's skinny neck and pressing him to the peeling paint. Inside his head sharp teeth were bared and he was growling deep in his throat as his entire body pinned the little outsider to the wet grass. Something about the youngster was off... It was male but it aroused him like a female... Cautiously he bit down on its neck and the boy in the room whimpered in fear of the muscular policeman imprisoning him against the wall. His head was starting to swim from the lack of oxygen and he could feel the older man's erection pressed against his stomach. The brown wolf bit harder, confused by the conflicting instincts until it tasted the hot familar coppery tang of blood on his tongue. Lestrade groaned and released his pressure on the boy's throat making the sweet hot life trickle that little bit faster. He lapped at it and rubbed himself against the warm body that was growing heavier as it tried to slide down the wall.

_Greg... Greg! I'm coming back! Stop, just stop for fuck's sake!_

Mycroft was in his head telling him to stop,but this wrongness felt so good. This outsider that had challenged him would know better than to come around and stand up to the Third. There was a screech of tyres as a car pulled up, another as it left just as rapidly and then expensive leather clad footsteps were pounding into the room and surprisingly strong arms were tearing him from his prize. He dropped into a crouch to face the newcomer and was shocked to see his Alpha facing him down. Mycroft was still in human form, a dark red stain across the sleeve of his hideously expensive suit, and breathing heavily as he watched his third-in-command and good friend. "Are you with me Gregory?" He asked softly. Mycroft's wolf shifted restlessly behind his eyes looking assertively at the weaker brown wolf that paced restlessly behind the DI's own. "You need to get control. The boy is bleeding out."

With effort Greg forced his wolf away, slowly coming back to himself. Boy? There was a boy, and he was injured? Slowly he turned and saw a gangly body slumped on the floor, his grubby grey jacket stained dark with blood. He could taste it now and the flavour and sudden memory made him retch until he vomited up the blood he couldn't digest as a human. When he moved he felt the sticky wetness cooling in his pants and the damp mark bleeding through the thin fabric of his cheap suit trousers that evidenced his ejaculation. He vomited again, falling to his hands and knees and spewing until his stomach only had bile to give. Mycroft was crouched over the boy administering to him, his phone clamped awkwardly under his chin as he issued instructions.

Less than thirty minutes later they were striding through the corridors of the Thames-side property they called the Haven, Gabriel cradled in Mycroft's arms and Greg hurrying behind them. From the outside it was similar to many other former industrial properties that had been converted in the eighties to yuppie apartments and sold for millions to young men in red braces who worked the stock market, but inside it was entirely different. Mycroft had bought the building twenty years earlier and he and Lestrade had overseen it's interior development into a hospital, home and hostel for werewolves. To the general populace werewolves were a myth, but both men had discovered to their distress they were anything _but_. The Haven was exactly as it's name would suggest... A place for the small number of wolves in London to find a place to rest, recuperate and live if they had nowhere else to go.

The hospital was the most important area and consisted of two windowless sterile rooms with reinforced walls and doors. Each was fully equipped with medical equipment and had its own small en-suite bathroom and an impressive locking mechanism on the door. They were staffed by a small hand-picked team that weren't wolves themselves but had impressive training and security clearance to work with them. Whatever Mycroft's job actually _was_ over the last twenty years, it had given him contact with all kinds of useful people who understood the requirement for absolute discretion and secrecy. It also allowed him to pay them very well to ensure they kept it.

Mycroft lay the comatose youth on the bed and stepped back to let the medical team make their assessment. The boy was alive but had lost a lot of blood and the wound would need treating. It was inevitable he would turn, and the whole process would be carefully managed by the medical team and members of the Pack unlike their own transition so many years ago which had been brutal and uncontrolled. Mycroft pulled the shaking DI from the room, one arm around his shaking friend's shoulders as he tugged him along the corridor towards the large communal lounge stuffed to the walls with all kinds of seating, a huge dining table and a small kitchenette. Lestrade fell heavily against the counter staring into space until the tall red-haired man pressed a glass into his hand and he took a long swallow, almost choking when the whisky burned its way down his throat.

"Better than sweet tea, in my humble opinion," the Alpha said. "Want to tell me how that happened?"

Greg scrubbed a hand through his short spiky grey-brown hair fluffing it in all directions. "Um… I lost it… Lost control… I don't know why." He stared down at his shoes feeling his wolf push at his boundaries and trying to ignore the soft brush of fur beneath his skin. Too long since he'd changed. Eight days, was far too long and he knew it. Four was pushing it when he was working so hard, but eight was suicide. Or in this case, potential murder… _Christ! What was he thinking?_ If Mycroft knew he'd gone after Sherlock in that state he'd rip him limb from limb knowing the way Sherlock could push his buttons. He watched the smart dress shoes step into his personal space and didn't resist when Mycroft prodded a narrow finger under his chin and used it to raise his eyes to meet his icy-blue stare.

"I can feel you Gregory. You know that I know, so why lie to us both? How long since you changed?" He still considered lying to Mycroft but the man would bloody know. A combination of human genius deductive skills and the Alpha-Pack bond meant there was no hiding anything from him.

"Eight days," he said softly.

"_Eight!_ Why so long for god's sake?"

"A triple homicide, an important date with my new fiancée, and three nights trying to find your stupid junkie brother at your request when I should have been sleeping," he snapped and Mycroft took a step backwards at the venom that dripped from his friend's tone. "Sometimes I put every bloody thing first but _me_, ok? And sometimes I get caught out. Pretty damn spectacularly on this occasion, I think you'll agree." It was only the shocked look on Mycroft's face that made him realise he'd finished his outburst at top volume. His yelling had drawn an audience too, the lean figure of Marcus Pinder stalking into the room like a smug, self-satisfied ginger cat.

"Well, well, the perfect DI Lestrade is capable of fucking up like the rest of us mere cubs. I see you had a little fun with this one," he smirked pointedly at Greg's semen-stained crotch. "You enjoyed him a little too much for a soon to be married man. Congratulations by the way. I'm sure being married to a gay man will make her _very_ happy."

"Fuck off Marcus, it's not like you never messed up." Greg growled.

"I never mess up darling. Every wolf I've turned has been deliberate, and every one I've killed has been too. I accept what I am and relish it."

"Marcus, please…?" intervened Mycroft. "Now is not the time. Would you leave us?"

"I just came to say goodbye Mycroft. I have an assignment in the Far East. I'll be gone a while."

"Good fucking riddance," Greg muttered, but Mycroft laid a calming hand on his arm and turned to the thin ginger haired man.

"Take care. If you need anything… If I can help… let me know." Something unspoken passed between the two men that Greg didn't understand and frankly didn't care about. Marcus and Mycroft were in the same line of work so it was probably something to do with that. He was privately rejoicing that Marcus was going to be gone for a while, the man was a fucking liability to the Pack and life was easier when he was away doing whatever the hell he did. He gave the pair an insincere smile and left, shouldering through the door and almost knocking a small blonde woman flying.

She glared at his narrow retreating back and hurried to the greying man slumped by the counter. "Greg honey, you ok?" She smoothed his hair back from his brow and looked deep into his brown eyes. He gave her a weak smile and dropped his forehead onto hers, eyes closed.

"I'm sorry Mary; I screwed up big-style. There's a kid in there… I don't know what happened…" Mycroft snorted and he shot him a glare. "I didn't change often enough and I lost control, and now there's a kid in there… Oh god… he's going to have parents and a family… What do I do?" She allowed her small hands to fall onto his shoulders and give him a gentle shake.

"Yep, you made a mistake, Greg, and we have a new wolf because of it, but you're not the first, and you won't be the last. We'll look after him the way we've looked after every wolf through the doors. Been a while, but the team is prepared and the boy is already stable. I've got Daniel trying to identify his family so we can discuss with him what he wants to do once he's changed. Were you close?"

He glanced uneasily at Mycroft who could always read him uncomfortably well. "Um… I only met him tonight… "

"Gregory was looking for my brother, Mary. The boy was with Sherlock when Gregory found them, but I'm not sure what transpired after that…"

"It doesn't matter now, what's done is done. Did you keep the knowledge from Sherlock?"

"Yes. I managed to send Sherlock off to his destination without alerting him to anything being amiss. He'll be detained for a couple of months at least, so you have my full attention between visits."

She nodded and gave Greg an encouraging smile. "We'll sort it honey. You don't cause me too many headaches Greg, once in a blue moon is pretty good. What do you know about him?"

"His name is Gabriel and he's a drug user and dealer. He and Sherlock were completing a transaction when I found them and my intention was to arrest him but… Things went sideways. He looks young… possibly still in his teens. Other than that, I know nothing."

"Ok," she smiled at him again, but Mycroft frowned.

"I'm making him handler," he said shortly and Mary gave him a sharp look. "_What?_ It's how we usually work."

"Yes but… Well, he's getting married in three weeks... How is he supposed to look after a teenage junkie kid and steer him right?"

Mycroft glared at his hopeful look. "Not my problem. Decision stands." He walked out without looking back and Greg wilted against the kitchen cabinets.

* * *

Ten nights later Mary was at Greg's elbow as she encouraged – or rather _pushed_ – him into the hospital room with Gabriel. The skinny exotic looking youth was crouched on the bed, watching the pair warily as they entered. He was dressed in cut-off jeans and a black vest that just made him look even more bony and lanky than when Greg had first seen him with Sherlock. Mary, who was skilled at appearing mild and unthreatening, approached the bed, Greg trailing behind him still dressed in his rumpled DI work suit.

"Hello Gabriel, I'm Mary. How are you doing?" she asked softly.

He scratched at his arms where there were healing track marks. "I'm… I'm ok. When can I leave?" He stared wide-eyed at the DI hovering nervously behind the petite blonde woman desperately trying not to meet his tilted green eyes or to stare at his golden skin. Greg had spent a lot of time sitting by his bedside, first while he was unconscious, and later while he was sleeping, just staring at the gorgeous young man and hating himself for attraction he was feeling. He always left when the boy woke up, usually because Gabriel looked so terrified to find him there.

Greg had known he was bisexual since the age of sixteen when he experienced a drunken heavy make-out session at a party with a guy from the Upper Sixth called Danny Miller. He spent the rest of that summer fantasizing about Danny, and Danny spent it avoiding Greg, but it made Greg certain that he liked boys as well as girls. Over the years he had many more male partners than female but he always assumed he'd marry a woman and have kids one day but he never found the right One. When Jenny came along he was forty-six and feeling his time was running out for a family so his proposal was an act of desperation. She was a good woman, and put up with his job and his unusual dedication to his 'volunteer work' at the Haven, but he wasn't absolutely sure he loved her. And now he was mooning around lusting after a nineteen-year-old kid who was twenty-seven years his junior. Christ, if it was anyone else he'd say it was creepy and wrong.

"You need to stay with us a while Gabriel. Did the doctor explain that to you? Explain what was happening?" Again the boy nodded, staring anxiously at the greying broad shouldered man in the room who couldn't look at him. "I'm going to leave you with Greg, ok? He won't hurt you. He's going to teach you what you need to know to keep yourself safe." The boy gulped and shuffled to the head of the bed. The blonde turned to the man, tugging him forwards toward the bed. "Greg?" she questioned.

"Um… yeah." The boy's eyes were vivid green and fixed on Greg's deep brown ones, but he stepped forward and cleared his throat letting his eyes roam over the skinny boy's body. He was scrubbed clean, his longish dark brown hair brushed back from his face, and he was stunning to look at. Greg dragged his eyes back to the almond shaped emeralds and ignored the tug of desire in his groin. Fuck but this kid was… well to all intents and purposes he was a child, and shouldn't be looked at in that way, and he was practically a married man for Christ's sake… "Um…" he said again, and moistened his lips, aware that the boy was staring at his mouth rather too intently. "I, er… I'll take you for a run next week, but I know you'll have questions. It's my job to answer them as best I can. Have you erm… have you changed? Know what you're doing with that?"

Gabriel scowled at him and gave a quick nod. "I learned quickly," he bit out, and the anger was a stab to Greg's gut. At some point Mary had sneaked from the room leaving the two alone.

"Look kid, I'm sorry ok? Things went… well what happened was an accident, I didn't intend for you to end up here, but now you are, I'll help you in whatever way I can. If you want to stay here…"

"I don't. I want to leave as soon as possible."

"Um… ok… Well, when you're ready, I'll help you get settled somewhere…"

"I've looked after myself since I was fourteen. I don't need your help."

"Yeah, but…"

"Just take me on a run, like the boss lady told you to, and then let me get on with my life ok? I hate you, we won't ever be friends and I need you to get the fuck out of my life as soon as possible so I can forget about this." The kid had bared his teeth without realizing it and was crouching on the bed in classic defensive posture. Greg could see he was afraid of him but trying not to show it and he was impressed with the boy's bravado.

"You can't forget it. It's going to rule your life forever and if you don't control it you'll have a slip up like I did with you." He gritted his teeth and made the offer he should avoid because it was going to screw his love-life up good and proper. "Come home with me and I'll take care of you until you can manage yourself."

"Take _care_ of me? Are you _hitting on__ me_?"

"What…? _No!_" Greg flushed bright red and headed for the door before he could embarrass himself any further. "I'll pick you up on Friday night, 9pm. Be ready."

* * *

The run itself went without incident but Greg found their changes excruciatingly embarrassing. Normally he was comfortable stripping off and being nude around other wolves before and after the change. He may be in his late forties but he was still pretty fit and had maintained a sporadic gym routine to combat any softening around the middle, and the higher metabolism of the wolf meant he burned off the regular take-aways before they could do much damage. Unfortunately his body seemed determined to embarrass him in Gabriel's presence, so he loitered behind a bush until his wolf flowed over him and tried not to stare at the golden skinned vision in front of him. Gabriel wasn't shy and happily stood waiting for the older man to change and Greg wondered sourly if he was taunting him. Afterwards they walked back to Greg's car in awkward silence both casting sidelong glances at the other. Greg didn't usually have trouble talking to anyone but this kid - or rather the memory of what he'd done to him - had him tongue tied.

"I want to come back to yours. Just a few nights till I get in touch with a mate and find a place to stay. I don't like it at the Haven, everyone is always watching me." Gabriel sat tensely in the passenger seat waiting for his response. Greg shouldn't have been surprised - he'd made the offer after all - but he hadn't expected the boy to take him up on it. Jenny would have a fit so close to the wedding but he couldn't rescind the invitation and… he didn't want to.

Greg stared at him drinking in the tilted eyes, the full lower lip that permanently pouted and the pink flush that stained his cheeks. For a junkie kid he looked healthy, no red eyes or dark shadows, and his skin was smooth and clear apart from the track marks on his arms. The pink tip of his tongue darted out to moisten his delicious lower lip and Greg felt himself start to grow hard when he imagined sucking on it, maybe biting gently... _For fucks sake Lestrade get a grip, he wants to sleep on your sofa, nothing else. Jenny will be there. Remember your fiancée who doesn't actually know you used to shag blokes? Jenny, who you are marrying two weeks today! _He felt sick and nervous as he slowly nodded. "Ok... Let's go back and get your stuff..."

* * *

It was after eleven when they got to Greg's flat and it was all in darkness indicating Jenny wasn't home from work. Greg checked his phone to find three unread messages from her, firstly berating him for inviting 'another no good junkie kid' into their soon-to-be-shared home, then telling him she was doing a double shift and would go back to her own place instead. She was clearly pissed off and he couldn't blame her, but he was secretly pleased she wouldn't be there interfering. He pulled Gabriel's small bag from the back seat and the youth trailed up the stairs after him.

"I thought you said your girlfriend would be here?" He asked suspiciously, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the older man once they were in the dark sitting room.

"Um, yeah... She had to work. She's not coming home tonight. Look… I'm not going to… you know… _jump you_ or anything, ok? I'm not interested in you that way," he lied, hoping he didn't look as scarlet as he felt. He busied himself flicking on lights and digging around in the small airing cupboard for a couple of spare blankets which he dropped onto the sofa then he entered his bedroom to fetch a pillow snatching up his own. When he returned Gabriel stood bare chested and was sliding his jeans down over his lean thighs and kicking them off the rest of the way.

"C-can I take a shower?" He asked, coming to stand a pace in front of Greg. He was so close the policeman had to look up to meet his eyes, and if he just reached out he could…

"Fresh towels on the shelf, shower is easy to use. I'll be in the bedroom if you need anything," he choked out and dashed for the sanctity of the bedroom closing the door firmly behind him. _Christ when did he get so coy? He'd never been shy or nervous around people he fancied, male or female, but this was ridiculous._ He knew it was down to guilt, but it didn't bode well for his impending marriage that he felt guiltier about the age gap than potentially cheating on his fiancée.

He shoved a hand through his hair and dug around in the bottom drawer for pajamas. Normally he slept naked but that didn't seem appropriate with Gabriel in the flat. He changed quickly and lounged on the bed hoping for, and dreading, a knock on the door. The shower went silent, and a few minutes later foot falls sounded along the corridor, pausing outside his door, but after a moment they carried on towards the living room. He waited twenty minutes, watching the LED numbers on the bedside clock change agonizingly slowly until he dared leave his room and head to the bathroom.

The flat was so quiet he could hear the kitchen clock ticking from down the hall, and then another noise reached him. He stopped to listen and it came again – a soft moan from the living room. Silently he stepped down the short corridor and stood framed in the doorway, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom. By the light from the streetlamp outside he could see the shape of Gabriel prone on the couch, his head thrown back, eyes closed and low moans issuing from his throat. The blanket pooled over his upper thighs and his underwear was pushed down exposing his long, thick and very hard cock and the eager hand that tugged enthusiastically at it. His other hand rolled and pinched at his left nipple, squeezing, tweaking and stroking.

Greg leaned heavily against the door frame and watched unable to drag his eyes from the delicious sight of the groaning young man pleasuring himself so freely. Unconsciously his own hand drifted to his erection that was tenting his pajama shorts, quickly stroking himself to fullness through the thin fabric until he needed to feel his hot flesh in his hand. He thrust his hand inside his pants and gripped himself more tightly, sliding his thumb through the slick pre-come oozing from the tip and spreading it all over the sensitive head. He let out a small gasp and immediately shot Gabriel a panicked look to see if he'd heard, but the boy was lost to his pleasure. Greg looked more closely and realized his ear buds were stuffed in his ears so he wouldn't know Greg was there unless he opened his eyes.

Taking a risk Greg resumed his touch, letting the soft moans of pleasure from the sofa turn him on. As Gabriel's pumping grew faster and more vigorous Greg's eyes focused on his cock. He was bigger than Greg in length and girth and he allowed himself to fantasize about how it would feel in his hand, his mouth, his arse… Suddenly Gabriel's hips were jerking as he thrust up into his own hand and he was coming over his stomach in quick glistening bursts, milking his orgasm until he started to soften in his hand.

Greg darted back along the corridor as quickly and quietly as he could with a raging hard on and softly closed his bedroom door just as he heard the footsteps heading towards the bathroom. He leaned heavily against the wood hardly breathing until he heard the door lock then he crossed to his bedside cabinet and found a bottle of lube. He barely needed it, he was leaking so much, but he drizzled some over his palm and warmed it before flopping onto the bed and taking himself in hand again, reliving the scene from the living room with added tongue until he was coming hard over his fist and pajama top. "Fuck!" he groaned out loud as the hot mess spilled over his skin. It was the best orgasm he'd had in months, and that was just _tragic_.

He pulled the top over his head and used it to clean himself up as best he could, tossing it into the linen basket. He'd have to remember to wash that tomorrow before Jenny came back. He fell back onto the pillows with a sigh at the thought of his pissed off fiancée and realized he hadn't called her as he'd promised so he picked up his mobile. Two missed calls from her. _Shit!_ It was almost one in the morning, too late to call now, so he fired off a quick text, deliberately adding 'ILY' to the end even though it was the last thing he felt like telling her. When he rolled onto his side and pulled the pillow to his chest it wasn't his fiancée he was thinking of as he fell asleep.

Greg's alarm sounded at 6.30am and he flapped a hand over it to turn it off. His first thoughts were of the kid on the sofa and he swung his legs out of bed with far more enthusiasm than he normally displayed. The flat was still silent, so he took a minute to visit the bathroom, before padding down the hall to the living room. The sofa was vacant, the blankets neatly folded, and a quick glance around the tiny flat showed that Gabriel was gone, complete with his small bag of belongings. A note was on the coffee table in spiky hand 'Don't look for me; I'm fine on my own.' Greg sighed miserably. Well that, he supposed, was that.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Apologies for the long delay in updating - my muse went off and flirted in another fandom for a while, but he's back now to help me continue this tale :-) **

March 2010

DI Greg Lestrade was glaring somewhere over Sherlock Holmes' right shoulder and wondering how much trouble he would _actually_ get into if he punched the annoying brat of a man in the face. He'd been in full flow for over twenty minutes about the incompetence of Greg's team and every single character flaw they possessed – a speech the DI had heard on at least three previous occasions – and he'd had just about enough of it. His mobile buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out to see a reply from Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's elder brother.

**What has he done this time? – MH**

Greg could almost hear Mycroft's sigh and see his eye-roll in the brief text. Ignoring Sherlock's tirade he stepped away from the curly-haired man and rapidly typed a reply to his long-time friend.

_**He's insulting my entire team. Again. And he's told us who the murderer is. Again. G**_

**Is that not what you are paying him to do? Not the insults, obviously – MH**

_**Yes but does he have to be such an arse about it? I'm seriously considering planting cocaine on him just to get him out of my hair! G**_

Predictably Greg's phone began to ring almost immediately, Donna Summer's 'Hot Stuff' blaring from the smartphone in his hand as Mycroft's face flashed up on the screen. Sherlock sniggered and Greg glared at him furiously; changing his ringtones was one of Sherlock's more infuriating and embarrassing pranks. "I didn't mean it," he said into the phone with a sigh.

"I'm very glad to hear it Gregory. What song announced me today?"

"Hot Stuff. It's a seventies disco classic."

Mycroft chuckled and Greg twitched a reluctant grin. "Yes, I believe I recall the song. It seems my brother is still determined to reunite us even after all this time. He believes that if we were concerned with one another we would have less time to bother him."

"More likely we'd present an even more united front, or doesn't he understand that? He passed his last random, by the way, so he's free to consult for us a while longer."

"Yes, a copy of his results was forwarded to Anthea. I suggest you watch over him for the next couple of weeks. I detect a certain restlessness in my brother that would indicate a slip may be approaching and unfortunately I will be out of the country for a couple of weeks from tomorrow."

"Oh _Mycroft_!" Greg whined and he could visualize the red-haired man's raised eyebrow at his tone. "I had plans with the wife. Bit of a holiday. We weren't going anywhere but... We need some quality time together. Things are... Aren't... Well, you know!"

Mycroft _did_ know; he made it his business to know what was happening in the lives of his Pack, and his job enabled him to do that rather well. Six months into Gregory and Jenny's marriage and all was not as it should be for a newly married couple. Gregory seemed to be working longer and longer hours and Mycroft's surveillance showed Jenny was seeking company elsewhere. Not that he had shared that information with his friend, but Jenny's lover should be receiving a polite warning sometime in the next few hours to end the relationship, which would hopefully send her back to her husband's arms. Mycroft still didn't understand why Gregory married the woman when she so obviously failed to make him happy. The Politician had thought Gregory might come to his senses in the weeks before his wedding when he had accidentally turned the young man... _Gabriel, was it_? Mycroft suspected he and Gregory had had some kind of liaison that went wrong although his friend denied it strenuously, and after a few days moping following the boy's disappearance, he had thrown himself into wedding preparations with enthusiasm.

"I'll speak to him today Gregory and encourage him to stay out of trouble. Is he still with you?"

Greg looked across to where Sherlock had been only to find the space vacant. He scanned the streets around the crime scene and saw the tall skinny man leaning against a wall talking with another thin youth with long dyed black hair and the restless motion of an addict. The DI sighed and started walking towards them, picking up his pace when the two discreetly made an exchange.

"He's here. I might just arrange a little drugs bust to keep him on his toes," he grumbled, hanging up on the other man without saying goodbye. Sherlock looked up and hastily stuffed his hand in his pocket, plastering on a bright smile as the policeman approached with his hand outstretched. "Hand it over Sherlock, whatever the hell it is." The self-titled Consulting Detective held out his empty hands in a show of innocence, still grinning annoyingly. "If you don't I'll tear your flat apart this afternoon and arrest you just for being a fucking arsehole." Sherlock's smile faltered and he dug in his pocket pulling out a small roll of cash that he dropped into the DI's hand. "Just collecting what Gabe here owes me. You can frisk me if you like?" He leered at the tall kid still leaning against the wall beside him. It looked to be the only thing keeping him upright. The boy peered out from beneath his hair with glazed green eyes and Greg took a dazed step towards him.

"Gabriel?" he gasped, shocked at the young man's appearance. He was almost skeletal, his t-shirt and jeans hanging off his bony frame under the black leather bike jacket. He pushed off the wall and would have toppled over if Sherlock hadn't caught his arm. "What the hell happened to him?" he demanded of Sherlock who simply shrugged.

"Cocaine and heroin I would guess. None of my business. He does a bit of work for me, eyes and ears on the street, that's all. Do you know him?" Sherlock's eyes were narrowed at the DI trying to work out the potential relationship between them. Apparently he'd deleted their encounter six months previously… but then he had spent two lengthy stints in rehab over those months so it was hardly surprising.

"I arrested him once," Greg lied, laying a hand on the young man's shoulder and Gabriel grinned at him.

"Hi Gregory."

Sherlock snorted. "Awfully _familiar_ for someone you arrested _Gregory_."

Greg ignored him steering the thin man away and round the corner out of Sherlock's line of sight. "Where the hell have you been?" He demanded when he was sure the detective could neither see nor hear them. "I've been looking for you for _months_, wondering if you were ok. When did you last change? Are you doing it regularly?"

Gabriel scowled at his questions and started walking away down the street until Greg grabbed at his arm and he swirled with a hiss of pain holding his arm protectively across his chest. "Shit, I'm sorry; I didn't grab you that hard though. Are you hurt? Let me see!"

"Leave me alone! I can't be seen talking to the police or he'll..."

"Or he'll what? _Who?_ Tell me where you've been at least, I've been so worried."

"Why? You barely know me, why do you even care?" He sneered, starting to walk away again, his thin shoulders hunched against the concerned stare he could almost feel boring into his back. When he recognized the other man Gabriel had experienced a momentary spark of hope that Greg might be a way out of his current situation but fear had re-asserted itself quickly.

"Because it's my fault and I need to look after you." The boy stopped, head bowed and body tense, so Greg pressed on. "Look, let me buy you a coffee and a sandwich. You can tell me in detail that you're alright and then I'll leave you alone. Deal? I just need to know you're coping ok."

Gabriel eventually nodded and the pair walked in silence to a small cafe several streets away, the younger man trailing a step or two behind him. It was hot inside, the windows streaming with condensation, but there were only two other customers so they could talk privately. Greg bought two coffees and two packs of limp-looking sandwiches, handing both over to the hungry youth who ripped the first one open and demolished half of it before he bothered to shrug out of his leather jacket. Eventually he peeled it off his bony shoulders and folded it carefully on the chair beside him setting an expensive looking mobile and a handful of coins on the table between them. "That's all the cash I've got."

"It's fine, I'm buying." Greg openly studied him while he finished his sandwich. Apart from the hair, which was longer and now dyed black he had gained multiple piercings in his ears and one in his nose. His clothes were clean and good quality - the kid was obviously earning better money these days, though Greg doubted it was legally. An impressive tattoo of a green dragon coiled around one bicep and a detailed green-eyed wolf's head stared from his other shoulder, but the rest of his skin was blotched with bruises in various degrees of healing and marked with the expected needle marks. His left arm, the one Greg had grabbed, was inexpertly bandaged. "What the hell happened to you? Changing should heal all this so why is it so bad?"

"If I'm high I don't need to change so often," the kid shrugged leaning back in the rickety chair and pushing a bitten fingernail through the crumbs and sugar crystals he'd dropped onto the table. "Problem is _staying_ high. Can't seem to get enough."

Greg couldn't believe the idiotic kid would be so stupid. Drugs of any kind were metabolized far too quickly due to the wolf, so to maintain the same high Gabriel would be taking horrific amounts that would amount to an outright overdose for anyone human. "Just accept the change, damn it! You don't need to try to kill yourself to avoid it. At some point it's going to come on you and you won't be able to stop it no matter how much poison you've filled your veins with, and then you're going to hurt someone. Or don't you care?"

"What? Like you cared when you attacked me?"

The DI slumped back in his seat, eyes falling on to the scruffy Formica table top. "I deserve that and I can't say sorry enough. It will never be enough, I know that, but I tried to find you so I could take care of you. You dropped off the radar and even Mycroft couldn't see where you were, but I suppose that's due to the amount of filth in your body."

"I found someone else to take care of me. He doesn't ask questions as long as I give him what he wants."

"Sherlock?" The boy looked blank. "The guy you were with today?" clarified Greg.

"God no. He pays me for information sometimes and lends me money if I need it. No, I'm in a relationship," he said proudly. "With Maxwell Bradley."

Greg choked on his coffee, slamming the cardboard cup on the table. "Maxwell-fucking-Bradley is the biggest psychopath this side of the Thames. His last boyfriend spent more time in hospital than he did at home. What the fuck are you doing with him?"

"He likes me. I can take a lot and I heal quickly."

"Oh my god, you actually _allow_ him to hurt you…" Greg's horrified whisper finally made the young man meet his eyes and what the DI saw there was chilling. Instead of the lively bright green he remembered there was a dead resignation and hopelessness. Greg swallowed hard. "_Why?_ I don't understand…"

"I get a roof over my head, clothes, and drugs… whatever I want in return. That means a lot when you've been on the streets as long as I have. I owe him." The boy's phone buzzed and he blanched when he saw the caller id flash up. "I have to go; someone's told him I'm in trouble with the police." Greg snatched up Gabriel's phone and fiddled with it. "What are you doing?" Gabriel asked anxiously.

"I've put my number in there as GL. If you need help at any time of the day or night call me ok?" He nodded and they both stood. "Look, you're probably going to hate me for this, but if it keeps you a little bit safer I'm going to arrest you now for possession. At least Bradley will believe you've a legitimate reason for being in my company and won't give you another hiding and it means he's going to know that you're on my radar now so he won't be as vicious. Gabriel McInnery, I'm arresting you…"

Gabriel didn't fight him on it, although he looked anxiously up and down the road when Greg guided him out of the café in handcuffs. Sherlock was leaning against the wall outside smoking and frowning. Judging by the number of butts littering the ground he'd been there some time. "You never take _me_ for coffee before arresting me, Lestrade," he observed sarcastically. "Why does _he_ get special privileges?" The consulting detective fell into step with them as they walked to the end of the road to wait for a car to take them to the nearest station. "There's something you're not telling me about this…" he waved his cigarette at the two men, "…_relationship_?"

"Why don't you mind your own business Sherlock?

"It is my business if you're cheating on my brother."

"For the love of god Sherlock, and for the _very last time_, Mycroft and I are not involved and haven't been for many years!" He waggled his left hand in the detective's face. "In case you haven't noticed, I got married a few months ago. You have plenty other eyes and ears, so unless you want the drugs squad to pay a visit to your flat this afternoon, you'll run along and keep your nose out of this." He guided Gabriel into the back seat of the car that pulled up and turned to the curly-haired man. "If I discover that you had _anything_ to do with Maxwell Bradley finding out that his boyfriend was with me, you will be in custody for _something_ so fast your feet won't touch the ground. Am I making myself clear?" Sherlock scowled and stepped away from the car, and Lestrade clambered into the back with his prisoner.

They traveled in silence for ten minutes before Gabriel asked softly so their driver wouldn't hear "Mycroft is the Alpha yes? And you and he were boyfriends?"

"Many years ago. We're just friends now."

"Is Sherlock… the same as us?"

"No, can't you tell? He doesn't know anything about the wolves and Mycroft insists we keep it that way. He's dangerous enough."

Maxwell Bradley swaggered into the police station three hours later dressed in an expensive suit and jangling the keys of his BMW. He was in his mid-thirties with slicked back blond hair that failed to hide his thinning crown, and an unhealthily pale complexion. He looked wealthy and stylish - a man of means - until he opened his mouth to reveal several missing teeth and a rough North West accent. Quite how he'd managed to establish a successful, yet shady, business empire in London was a mystery to Scotland Yard, but it was widely believed he paid a proportion of his earnings to the most significant criminal empire in the capital for which he was pretty much ignored. He was well known to Greg Lestrade however from his stint in the drugs squad, but so far nothing major could be made to stick.

"Lestrade!" He drawled, clapping the disgruntled policeman on the shoulder. "I hope you have good reason for detaining this young man?"

Gabe stood by the desk waiting for the custody officer to return his personal possessions, being careful to keep his head down. He snatched his phone from the officer's hand and stuffed it in his pocket with his meager handful of coins and a notebook that Greg had really wanted to take a closer look at. The significant amount of cocaine Greg had found on him that would have earned him a 'possession with intent to supply charge', and no doubt a prison sentence, had disappeared into Greg's own pocket before he'd escorted him into the station and he intended to dispose of it as soon as he could. With no drugs found on him there was no reason to keep Gabriel in custody but Greg had persuaded the desk sergeant to delay processing him until Bradley turned up as he knew he would.

Greg gave a thin smug smile pleased he'd taken some of the scum's filth from the street. "I suspected he was dealing. Turns out I was wrong. Nothing on him."

Bradley didn't look away from Greg's smirk but there was a definite flicker of anger and tightness in his voice when he snapped, "Good. Then I'll just take him home as you're finished with him." Gabe stood silently beside him. He flinched when Bradley's arm snaked possessively around his waist, tugging him tightly against the slightly shorter man's chest. Bradley pressed a wet open mouthed kiss against the young man's neck sliding his hand down over the front of Gabe's jeans and shamelessly groping him through the rough fabric. Greg could see the tension thrumming through Gabriel's body and he took an anxious step towards the couple, only for Gabe to turn his fear filled eyes to the blond and press his lips to the other man's in a filthy kiss that turned Greg's stomach.

"You don't have to go Gabriel," he said, but the boy was clinging to the smirking gangster like his life depended on it. Greg had the horrifying notion that perhaps it did. He watched them walk out to the BMW with dread settling in the pit of his stomach.

Greg slumped on the sofa resting his bottle of beer on his thigh and staring moodily at the TV without really noticing the programme he'd tuned into at all. Jenny was in a foul mood and had been trying to pick a fight from the moment he'd walked in the door until finally she'd stormed off to bed leaving him feeling that yet again he'd done something wrong but he had no idea what! His plans for a romantic staycation hadn't been greeted with the enthusiasm he expected and that had made his frustration with her bubble to the surface. Perhaps he shouldn't have yelled but he was sick of trying to figure out what the hell she wanted from him. Clearly not sex. It must be six, maybe even seven, weeks since they last made love and even that had been over quickly, Jenny turning away from him the moment he pulled out of her body even though she hadn't achieved orgasm herself. He had tried to slip his fingers between her legs to finish her off but she'd pushed his hand away muttering "I'm too tired" and rolled onto her stomach away from him.

He flicked through the channels angrily until he caught a glimpse of Daniel Craig's Bond. Quickly he shifted back through the channels pleased to see it was 'Skyfall', his favorite Craig movie. For a while he watched the familiar story-line unfold until his mind wandered into his own private fantasies of the blond blue-eyed secret agent and his fingers idly stroked his hardening cock through his trousers.

He had deliberately avoided thinking about being with a man since his wedding, and had firmly dismissed the particularly delicious memory of Gabriel lying on his sofa wanking whenever it entered his head, but now he immersed himself in the fantasy of Bond on his knees in front of him, lips wrapped around his length and startling blue eyes dark with lust peering sinfully up at him. He set his bottle down and swiftly unzipped his trousers, wriggling them and his pants down just enough to give himself comfortable access to his growing erection. He gripped himself lightly, slowly circling his thumb over the swollen head and teasing at the slit, imagining it to be Bond's tongue swirling over the sensitive nerve endings, making him push into his fist. Before long the tip of his cock glistened with pre-cum that he spread over his heated skin helping his hand move more freely. It would be better with lube but that was in the bedroom where Jenny was presumably sleeping, and now that he'd started to indulge in his fantasy he was in no mood to interrupt it. Instead he licked at his palm, slicking it just enough to slip over his shaft more easily and watched Bond flicker on the screen with the sound muted so it wouldn't detract from the dirty dialogue he dreamed up in his mind.

Although Bond was hot he found he just couldn't get himself to orgasm and soon he found his mind drifting back to the gorgeous golden skinned Irish boy that had sprawled wantonly on his sofa and pleasured himself without any concern that Greg might walk in on him. The sexy 007 was dismissed from his fantasy and the lean naked body took his place, climbing onto Greg's lap and sliding his long thick cock against the older man's. Greg could almost feel the hot hard flesh against his own as he imagined capturing Gabriel's mouth in a deep bruising kiss, trapping their erections between their stomachs as they devoured each other's mouths.

Greg's hand moved over his shaft more frantically, adding a twist and watching the dark head of his cock appear and disappear into his clenched fingers that grew ever slicker with his leaking desire. He felt his release finally begin to coil in the deep low muscles of his abdomen and his hips jerked in time with his fist until he came with a loud grunt, streaking his shirt with white. His hand fell away and he sank into the cushions staring vacantly at Bond as he destroyed his childhood home on screen.

A low rhythmic buzzing insinuated itself into his sated state and he reluctantly moved to retrieve his phone, unbuttoning his stained shirt as he did so and using it to clean himself off. Just as he picked it up it stopped ringing displaying a message on the screen. _Unknown Number, 6 missed calls._

"_Shit!_" He tapped the screen to return the call and stood, allowing his trousers to fall around his ankles, adjusting his pants and kicking the fabric free of his feet while he impatiently waited for the call to connect. By the time a weak sounding "Gregory?" came over the line he was in the bedroom trying to pull on jeans one handed while Jenny grumbled furiously at him for waking her.

"Gabriel, are you ok?"

Gabriel sounded slurred when he replied and his voice was rough as though it hurt to talk. "Will you come and get me?" There was a choking cough that may have been a sob.

"Yes, I'm on my way. Tell me where you are?" Ignoring Jenny's angry protests and demands to know what was going on he found a t- shirt and jumper and left the bedroom to locate his shoes. Jenny followed him still yelling, but all his attention was focused on the scared voice on the phone. "Are you hurt?" The answer was a pained "un-ungh!" that the DI took to be 'yes'. He grabbed his jacket and searched the pockets of his coat, transferring his wallet and keys over. His fingers found the packet of cocaine that he planned to dispose of and he shoved that into his jacket too, but not before Jenny had seen it and recognized it for what it was.

"Jesus-fucking-hell Greg _drugs_? What the fuck is going on? Who are you talking to?"

He rounded on her in a panic, too scared for Gabriel to think straight enough to give a reasonable explanation, even if he had one. "Go back to bed," he screamed, "and keep your fucking nose out of my private business if you know what's good for you!" The door slammed behind him as he left the flat.

The London streets were still busy so it took twenty agonizing minutes for him to reach the cafe they'd visited earlier that day. It was closed now, along with all the other businesses on the short street, so the road was deserted as he drove slowly down it scanning the shop doorways for a familiar figure. Three doors up from the cafe he spotted a crouched man in the shadows and the sweep of his headlights across his pale face confirmed his identity. Greg left the car idling by the kerb and ran to the boy who flinched from his touch cowering into the doorway, "no more" he mumbled through swollen lips.

"Gabriel, it's me. You're ok now, you're safe."

Gabriel raised his head to stare in confusion at the man leaning over him and Greg growled at the state of his face. One eye was swollen shut and he was bleeding from his mouth and nose, which looked to be broken. Other bruises shadowed his skin and the way he tried to move his mouth to speak made Greg fear his jaw might be fractured too.

"Maxwell Bradley is a fucking dead man," the DI growled as he gently curled one arm under the youth's bent knees and the other around his back and braced himself to lift the silently weeping boy into his arms. Gabriel hissed with pain and whimpered into Greg's neck, pressing his beaten face against the older man's skin. He was taller than Greg but he had lost so much weight it was horrifyingly easy for Greg to stand and carry him the few yards to the car, setting him down like a piece of delicate glass so he could open the passenger door. Gently he helped the young man into the seat and buckled his seat belt for him, trying not to hurt him any more than necessary. Before setting off he tapped out a quick text to Mycroft, ignoring the several missed calls and text messages from Jenny.

_**Gabriel badly hurt. Taking him to the Haven. G**_

Almost immediately he received Mycroft's response.

**The doctor will be ready to receive the patient. In Shanghai but call if you need anything. Anthea will respond if I cannot - MH**

Mycroft meant _anything_, even if that was the termination of one Maxwell Bradley, but Greg decided the pleasure would be all his, once he was sure Gabriel was going to be fine. The young man's breathing was shallow and gasping so Greg decided using the blues on his unmarked car was appropriate though he risked drawing attention. As it was he made the journey in eight minutes and encountered no other police vehicles.

Greg waited off to the side as the doctor and two nurses tended to Gabriel. As each piece of clothing was removed revealing the mass of injuries coloring his thin body the silver-haired man grew angrier, shifting restlessly from foot to foot with his arms folded tightly across his chest so he wouldn't punch the wall. His wolf paced just out of reach scenting the air and growling softly. The doctor stepped in front of him and touched his arm.

"Extensive bruising over most of his body in various stages of healing. The most recent look like they may have been inflicted with an implement of some kind - pipe or bat? Probably a couple of broken ribs, broken nose and suspected hairline fracture to the jaw. There are some infected injuries on his arm that look like cigarette burns as well as cuts and needle marks. He's malnourished and says he injected cocaine and heroin within the last six hours, although the drugs seem to be having little effect now. I'll clean him up, give him a broad spectrum antibiotic and pain relief if he needs it but ideally you need to get him to change as soon as possible to kick start the healing process."

"Thanks doc. Can you give him a sedative that will keep him here for at least a couple of hours? There's something I need to do," he said darkly. The doctor simply nodded knowing it was better not to ask questions and returned to his patient as soon as Greg left.

The DI left the Haven and drove to Bradley's home, parking further down the street where the street lights were conveniently out and heading back on foot. He walked confidently to the front door and hammered on it until it swung open a short way, concealing the shadowy figure inside. When he pushed hard it smashed violently into Bradley's hard man's face and the shaven haired man went down heavily clutching his shattered nose. Greg shoved with all his weight to move both the door and the groaning man enough to squeeze inside. Once past the obstacle of the door he kicked the goon hard in the head knocking him out cold and halted, listening carefully for any other signs of life. Bradley's voice carried down from the bedroom demanding to know what the fuck was happening but he could hear nothing else.

In the shadows of the hall he stripped quickly, listening to Bradley's footsteps overhead as he grew impatient for an answer from his henchman that wasn't forthcoming. Greg crouched and let his change come over him until the brown wolf lay on its belly; ears pricked and tail flicking in anticipation of a fight. Its quarry was moving down the steps now, peering through the gloom and calling out to the bodyguard. The wolf's nose twitched at the smell of the prone man's blood and the tang of sweat and fear he could sense from the other man descending the stairs. His jaws fell open in a grin and a low rumble began in his throat.

There was a startled cry from above as Bradley noticed the still figure on the floor. He ran down three more steps before realizing he was moving towards danger instead of away from it and froze when he sensed movement in the hall below. Keeping low to the wooden floor the wolf crept forward towards the bottom of the stairs, claws clicking on the hard surface no matter how cautiously he moved. He could hear the man's breathing growing more rapid and it sped his blood, tempting him to make a charge and bring down his prey, but somewhere within the wolf his other self urged him to draw the fear out.

The wolf slunk around the bottom stair and set both paws on the second step glaring malevolently at the frozen figure less than six feet above him. The man's mouth worked but all that issued was a panicked wail as he tried to back up a step away from the softly growling beast at the foot of his stairs. Bradley scrambled up two further steps before his heel missed the third and he tumbled back towards the wolf putting his right ankle within range of the nightmare's jaws. The bitter stench of urine joined with terror as the pathetic creature on the stairs lost control of his bladder. The wolf lost patience in waiting and sprang awkwardly up the stairs landing heavily on his victim's chest and tearing out his throat in one vicious bite, scrabbling to maintain a foothold on the motionless body which caused both man and wolf to crash to the bottom, the body landing heavily on the wolf's foreleg with an agonizing crunch.

The wolf yowled, panicked at being trapped by the dead weight and the maddening pain that radiated from his foreleg. He struggled against the flesh, biting and nosing at the bloody body until a low moan dragged his attention to the stirring man by the door. With one last concerted effort he heaved his body upwards against the pain and managed to shift the weight of the dead gangster off his foreleg enough that he could crawl free. He limped over to the sprawled bodyguard and sat in an awkward position while he tried to pant through the throbbing in his leg. The man stirred, peering up at the terrifying sight of a large brown wolf staring hungrily at his throat. Less than ten seconds later a powerful swipe of a paw gouged through his neck severing the jugular vein and his lifeblood spilled across the wooden floor.

Twenty minutes later Greg was back in his car driving awkwardly back to the Haven. He suspected his right arm was broken which had made dressing difficult, but he was confident he had accounted for every item of clothing leaving nothing behind to identify that he'd been in Bradley's house. He sent Mycroft a brief text asking him to arrange a clean-up at the criminal's home but didn't wait for a response. He could only change gear when the road was straight, forcing the engine to roar as he navigated curves and roundabouts but thankfully the streets were almost empty. He parked up and fell into the Haven, blood-stained but satisfied with his revenge.

Gabriel was alone when he entered the hospital room, awake but still dopey from the sedative. Greg strode to the bed and stood over him cradling his arm. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Gabriel winced trying to sit up.

"You need to change."

"I don't think I can. The coke..."

"I'll help you." Greg stripped quickly shooting the boy a reassuring smile. "It'll be fine." He helped the boy from the bed and lowered them both to the floor. "You first..."

Gabriel rolled onto his hands and knees hanging his head. The shadowy bruises on his thin flesh emphasized the sharp angles and lines of the bones beneath. Greg wanted to reach out and pull him into his lap just to hold him but he stayed where he was murmuring reassuring words and directing his change. A tremor began in Gabriel's right arm and spread to the rest of his body until he was a quaking bag of bones crouched on the floor panting like he'd run a marathon. "That's it Gabriel... Let it go... You can do it."

"Gabe," he gasped. "Please... Call m-me... Gabe... Unngh!" His arms gave out and he almost chinned the floor when he fell but Greg was there instantly to hold him up.

"It's ok, you're getting there. I know it hurts, but it's going to help you heal."

"I-I'm scared... Hurts... So much..."

Greg's left arm was looped under both of Gabe's arms supporting his upper body and the younger man rested his forehead on his shoulder breathing heavily.

"Bradley's dead Gabe. I killed him. I don't know if I should apologize to you but... I'm not sorry... What he did to you..."

Gabe groaned and there was a shift in the alignment of the bones in his back as they began to reconfigure themselves into lupine form. Deep in the dark recesses of his mind his wolf tried to lift its head, its deep green eyes crusted and dry. It whimpered and the sound carried through his human lips to vibrate along the skin of Greg's neck. The silver haired man shivered. "He can't hurt you anymore Gabe. You're safe now, you can let go."

His change was slow, painful and incredibly messy, and when it was over the black wolf lay on its side, its huge head cradled in the lap of the naked man beside him. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his tongue lolling as he panted from the exertion. Greg pushed his fingers deep into the coarse thick hair on the wolf's neck massaging and petting him until the animal calmed beneath his touch. He needed his own change to speed the healing of his fractured arm but this felt like a privilege to soothe the frightened cub that Gabe had become at the hands of that bastard. At the back of his mind he knew he should be freaking out about murdering two men but he trusted Mycroft to clean his mess up for him. He would give him hell when he returned from Shanghai but Greg's liberty and career would be unaffected. He only hoped his conscience would be so easily salved.

The black wolf staggered to its feet and went in search of the water bowl, lapping it up noisily. Greg took his cue to change, which happened quickly and cleanly, paying particular attention to the right arm/foreleg. Luckily it wasn't a displaced fracture so he could visualize the bone knitting together in his change, knowing it would be so. They had nowhere to go but they could reacquaint themselves and reinforce the Pack bond. Greg's brown wolf took the lead, not asserting himself but brushing along the black wolf's body and transferring his superior scent to the newer wolf which Gabe accepted, rolling onto his back and submitting to the older wolf. The brown wolf huffed at his exposed throat stirring the dense black fur but not making any aggressive moves. He didn't need to, although the black clearly expected it in the way he lay so still and wide-eyed. Instead Greg's wolf lay down beside him nose on paws and waited. Eventually Gabe rolled upright coming to rest against the other's side from shoulder to hip. Every muscle was tensed, ready to spring away at a moment's notice but Greg just flopped onto his side, tail waving gently. It was a vulnerable position with his belly exposed but a clear sign of trust that the other wolf wouldn't hurt him. With a yawn he stretched out beside him and they fell asleep.

Greg woke in the early hours and changed back to himself stretching out his taut muscles and shivering in the chilly morning. He still didn't understand how he could fall asleep as a fit, healthy wolf and yet still feel every year of his human age the minute he became a man again. He was too bloody old for sleeping on cold tiled floors that's for sure. Gabe was still in wolf form and simply flicked an ear when Greg got up to visit the bathroom. When he returned the black wolf hadn't moved an inch and Greg had no intention of joining him on the floor again so he slid under the rumpled white sheets of the hospital bed reveling in the scent of the young man that clung to the bedding, letting it fill his senses as he drifted off to sleep in comfort.

Perhaps it was the hot huff of breath ghosting over his ear or the teasing trail of light fingers down over his stomach that woke him, but through the haze of waking he thought it was more likely to be the press of a solid length against his right arse cheek. His body insisted he was still dreaming, and what a bloody good dream it was when those long fingers started playing along the length of his morning erection teasing it to fullness. It was well on its way when warm moist lips planted a kiss on his neck in that spot that never failed to send a shiver of desire right to his toes, and his brain kicked in to ask the less-than-lucid 'who the fuck...?' soon to be followed by a 'who the fuck cares...?' when the rigid cock that had been teasing his arse was shifted so the head slid wetly between his legs and bumped gently against his ball sack.

"Gabe?" He gasped as the mouth at his neck settled over that sensitive spot and began sucking and nibbling in earnest, making his cock twitch in the deft fingers that now wrapped around it.

"Hmm?"

"What the fuck a-are you d-doing?" The demand should have had far more authority behind it but Gabe chose that moment to circle his thumb around the crown, slipping it across the slit that was traitorously weeping pre-cum like a leaky tap. He bit down lightly on Greg's shoulder and Greg shifted his head to give him better access to his neck.

Gabe giggled - honest to god _giggled_ - and sucked down hard on the skin in the juncture of the DI's neck making him hiss and jerk in his hand. The apex of his legs squeezed Gabe's cock reflexively making the younger man groan too. "Saying thanks." He sounded a little breathy too, Greg noted. "Want me to stop?"

_Yes_, screamed Greg's brain. "Fuck, _no_!" gasped his mouth when Gabe started moving his hand up and down his length with exactly the right touch, though if Greg was honest, any touch from this boy would have him hard in an instant. He blushed remembering how the boy had looked laid out on his sofa and suddenly his orgasm was rushing to the surface as fast and unstoppable as an express train. His hips jerked into Gabe's hand, the press of Gabe's cock hard between his legs and the head of it nudging his tight sensitive balls. He came hard shooting streams of cum into the tangle of bed sheets, and moments later he felt another wet rush as Gabe came all over his balls and thighs.

"Jesus, shift your leg," groaned Gabe, pushing at Greg's upper thigh to release his softening cock from where it had been gripped by Greg's legs. "It just fucking hurts once you've come."

"You started it," Greg murmured breathlessly, still slightly stunned at the turn of events. "A simple thanks would've done."

"Shut the fuck up and go back to sleep."

"I can't. I'm covered in cum and it's getting cold and sticky."

Gabe pushed up onto his elbow and glared down at the older man. "Are you always this fucking whiny after sex? Jesus If you are it's no wonder you were so fucking desperate to get laid."

"I wasn't desperate!"

"Course you were. You got naked in my bed, how fucking desperate is that? Practically begging to be fucked."

Greg couldn't understand how they'd gone from barely knowing each other, to shagging and then fighting in less than twenty minutes. He was also struggling to process Gabe's accusations so he could separate the biting bits of truth from Gabe's self-preserving lies. Apparently Gabe was aware of his attraction to him, or...

"Just because I lie down in a convenient bed, it doesn't mean I want to be jumped by some messed-up prozzie kid that can't even say thanks without dropping his trousers. You can't solve every problem by fucking your way out of it. Look where that got you with Bradley! I'm not his fucking replacement Gabe. If that's what you need then look for it elsewhere."

Greg threw off the sheets and stormed to the bathroom, angrily fighting the shower controls until the water ran to a reasonable temperature. He scrubbed his skin hard attempting to wash all signs of the stupid kid from his body, but he couldn't do anything to erase him from his mind. He was an idiot. He'd killed two men for that stupid little shit to get him out if an abusive relationship and here the dumb ass kid was trying to fall right back into another one, this time with him. There wouldn't be blood and broken bones but there'd be Greg trying to save him and Gabe dropping to his knees every time he failed. A blow job to say sorry for taking drugs or a fuck to apologize for getting arrested or a hand job for forgetting to pick his dirty pants off the bathroom floor... Greg felt sick. He rested his forehead against the cool tiles and let the hot water spill over him. For twelve hours he'd been lost, forgetting who and what he was, all because of an inappropriate attraction to a junkie kid that he felt an obligation to care for because he'd had a momentary loss of control and bitten him. He knew what he needed to do. He toweled off and retrieved his mobile from the bedside table. Gabe was pretending to be asleep, his breathing artificially regular. The call was answered on the second ring.

"Mycroft? I need permission to hand Gabriel over to Mary. I'm no longer the right person to be his handler."

He turned his back on the boy's shaking shoulders and left the room locking the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

New Year's Eve 2010/New Year's Day 2011

Greg Lestrade was in a pissy mood and it was almost entirely to do with the tall, skinny man dancing around his crime scene. Sherlock bobbed on the balls of his feet, waving his arms excitedly as he made quick fire observations and shot questions to his serious faced little sidekick, who gazed at him adoringly. Greg stood off to the side, well away from the cordoned off area, and smoked, frowning at the short sandy haired man and the manic consulting detective he so obviously idolised. He wondered idly if they were shagging yet. That might explain Sherlock's bright "Merry Christmas, isn't this _wonderful_ Lestrade!" as he'd arrived at the scene.

Wonderful, it wasn't. They had already been working the case for three days since the first body – a battered and bloody teenage girl - had turned up, and now, in the early hours of New Year's Eve, a second body had been discovered. Unfortunately it was the girl's boyfriend, their prime suspect for the first murder. Sherlock had deemed it _fascinating_, and was eagerly explaining to John Watson exactly why, while an unusually taciturn Donovan scurried around behind them listening in to their deductive tennis and making notes. The forensic techs had finished and were packing up. Once Sherlock was finished doing his thing the body would be removed and they would take everything they had learned back to the incident room to start compiling and cross-referencing data. Maybe he would be finished before Big Ben rang in the New Year and he could look forward to a few hours away from bloody Danger Mouse and Penfold. He sniggered to himself at his private joke, coughing into his cigarette when he realised Penfold himself had crept up on him remarkably stealthily.

"Sherlock's just about done, I think," John said. "Got any plans for tonight?"

Greg actually quite liked John Watson. He seemed to be a steadying influence on Sherlock and was practically immune to all of the curly-haired man's sarcastic barbs and put downs. Whenever the consulting detective was behaving in a particularly childish manner, John only had to roll his eyes and sigh and the taller man immediately acquired something that vaguely resembled a contrite look. Occasionally a muttered, if less than heartfelt, apology issued from his lips, leaving the victim of Sherlock's wit or wickedness speechless. Yes, Doctor John Watson was a good match for Sherlock Holmes. He made a mental note to speak to Mycroft about encouraging the association as much as possible.

"Not much," he said shortly, glaring over John's head at the grinning man that stopped behind him.

"Oh, that's a shame. Thought you might have something nice planned with your wife."

"Lestrade's wife has made other plans this evening with a friend. They are attending a party and have booked rooms at the hotel in spite of his generous offer to act as personal chauffeur. Lestrade is wondering about his wife's relationship with this friend. You're probably correct to be concerned."

"Sherlock!" snapped John, shocked at Sherlock's complete lack of tact, but Greg just growled and turned away, pulling his buzzing phone from his pocket.

"Yes?" he snarled, not bothering to check the caller id.

"Christ, who bit your arse?" the familiar Irish drawl answered back and Greg found his mood lightening the barest fraction at the sound of Gabe's voice.

"Sorry, it's been a bad night. Another body."

"Oh, is this a bad time to chat? I was just ringing to remind you to pick up popcorn if you're still coming over tonight? I guess you have to dump me for work, huh?"

Greg smiled at the slight huffiness in the young man's voice. At twenty years old, Gabe could still behave like a moody teenager at times, particularly with Greg who he had learned to manipulate with big eyes and a pathetic little voice that was both endearing and irritating in equal measure. For the most part Greg forgave him and allowed himself to be influenced, just pleased to see the young man finally happy and more importantly healthy.

It had been a very difficult nine months for the two of them. Gabe was relieved to be out of his abusive relationship but he found it difficult to function as an independent person. He felt safe with Greg and wanted to be around him permanently, following him around the Haven for months like some kind of spectre, but Greg kept him at arm's length, always pleasant and understanding, but maintaining the professional distance he should have shown from the very start of their acquaintance. He persuaded Mycroft to pay for him to attend rehab and counselling, and gradually the emaciated zombie kid put on weight, kicked the drugs and started to think about living life.

Greg suffered too. Maxwell Bradley deserved to be dead but DI Gregory Lestrade found it difficult to come to terms with the fact he had been the one to murder him in cold blood. It was against everything he stood for as a police officer and it sat broodingly at odds with his other self who had no remorse at all for killing a threat to a Pack member. Mycroft's contacts had done a perfect job of cleaning up and as far as anyone knew, Bradley had returned to the North West to live out his criminal days in comfort. Apart from the guilt, it was the attraction he felt to Gabe that preyed on his mind. Allowing the sex to happen on the night of Gabe's rescue was a mistake, if it could even be _called_ sex. Although it was offered freely, Greg still felt he'd taken advantage of the boy in a vulnerable state and they had many arguments about it in the early days until Greg finally refused to discuss it anymore. Their awkward, and often volatile, friendship lurched from the dark and limped towards the light until now, after nine months, they actually sought each other out socially.

Greg sighed. "Microwave popcorn already in the car along with a bottle of champagne. I'll be there if I can, I promise."

"Good. I have a new movie for us to watch. Cary Grant in 'The Philadelphia Story'."

"You are such a girl. It doesn't sound like there are many explosions," Greg said fondly. He knew it didn't really matter because he'd fall asleep in front of any movie, gunfire or not, but Gabe's fondness for Cary Grant mystified him. He supposed the actor was suave and funny but he was so far removed from Gabe's personal style Greg just couldn't figure out the appeal.

"Just get here. Please? I need to talk to you about something."

Greg was instantly alert. "Are you ok?"

"Yes, I'm fine, stop panicking. Just come over. See you later."

He disconnected and Greg was left with his worries.

"Everything ok?" John asked. "You can join us tonight if you like."

"No he can't, we're busy," Sherlock said hurriedly and Greg smirked at John's confused expression. Clearly he hadn't caught on to the fact his flat mate was interested in him. Actually Sherlock himself probably hadn't realised, he was so useless at feelings.

"It's fine. I'm going to see a mate _if I ever get away from here_." The last half of his sentence was bellowed at Donovan as she approached.

She scowled at him. "You will be out the door by nine if I have to carry you out myself. You've been here nearly eight hours already."

He wasn't going to argue.

Donovan was as good as her word, and while she didn't exactly frogmarch him out, she did hover by his desk for twenty minutes repeatedly asking him "are you going yet?" until he dragged his jacket on just to shut her up. She followed him to the exit of New Scotland Yard and surprisingly gave him an awkward one-armed hug and wished him a Happy New Year, pushing him gently towards the door. He was unbelievably tired. Sixteen hour shifts tended to wipe him out these days, but Gabe was expecting him and he wouldn't let the boy down.

He let himself into the riverside property and climbed the stairs to the second floor. He could hear a deep heavy drum beat emanating from Gabe's bedroom along the corridor, that changed constantly in tempo, pace and rhythm. He leaned against the doorframe watching the young man's leanly muscled arms fly to the left and right, his feet working behind the drum kit to create the punishing beat that Greg could feel vibrating through his core. Gabe played like this when he had something on his mind or when he needed a distraction. Greg had bought him the kit when he was in recovery and needed something to concentrate on when the craving for drugs got too strong, and it hadn't seen much use in the last few months. Watching him attack the skins with such force was concerning.

Gabe knew he was there of course, even with his ears smothered by the headset that piped the accompanying music track directly. He flashed him a delighted grin but didn't let up with his performance until the song was finished. He dropped his sticks into a tub by his stool and grabbed a small towel from the floor using it to dry the thin sheen of sweat on his face, neck and arms.

"Very good," Greg complimented.

"It was crap. I lost time at least twice. You haven't a fucking clue," he grinned.

"How long have you been at it?"

"Um... Couple of hours..." He stalked away towards the living room pretending not to notice the twist of the older man's mouth and the tightness around his eyes. Greg had suffered through times when Gabe played incessantly for hours at a time when the cravings were at their worst and he couldn't sleep. No one else slept much either, but Greg was the only one who would slip into Gabe's room and fall onto the bed, letting the painful noise thrum through him just so Gabe would know he wasn't going through it alone. He would have to ask the question and face the inevitable angry denial and try to figure out the truth from it. Great, just great. Not even in the building ten minutes and they would be fighting. He was worried enough to ask however.

"Gabe, are you using again?" He kept his voice neutral, non-judgemental, as if he was asking if he'd seen a misplaced book or if he wanted a cup of tea.

The boy stilled but there was no rushed heated denial. He let out a long shaky breath and muttered "no, but for the first time in ages I wanted it... I'm sorry."

"Is that why you wanted to talk? Did something happen today? You don't need to apologise, you didn't give in. We can get through this..."

"Greg stop! Please! _I _will get through this, not _we_... I need to manage this one on my own. You're too busy..."

"I'm never too busy..." Greg interrupted, mouth snapping shut when Gabe shushed him.

"You can't be here every minute of every day. You've been brilliant but I need to at least try to handle this crisis on my own. If I fail, will you help me? Just say yes then shut the fuck up so we can watch the movie."

"Um... Yes?"

"Good. And stop looking at me like that!"

"Like what?"

"All protective and Alpha. You're crap at it. Nowhere near the level of the Prick."

Greg barked a laugh at Gabe's insult. "Don't call Mycroft that or he'll teach you exactly how you should respect him. Whatever you think of him, he's your Alpha and he's done a lot for you."

"Yeah, yeah. You old people always stick together and witter on about respecting your elders." He dodged the first cushion but the second caught him in the side of the head. Greg chuckled and darted for the fridge returning with two bottles of lager.

"Ha! Don't attack the man with the booze. Now put your pensioner film on and let's get drunk."

The film was actually very entertaining although they argued intermittently over it being a classic or an oldie, neither of them really understanding the difference or caring either way. Being on opposite sides of an argument was fuel to their friendship as long as the subject matter was largely trivial, like films, music or football - Greg was a passionate Arsenal supporter, Gabe was a fair weather Everton fan, so arguments only became really heated twice per season.

Greg stretched out on the sofa turning the volume low on the TV while Gabe fetched more lager. The young man sank gracefully to sit cross legged on the floor near Greg's head.

"You've had your lip pierced," Greg noted with a scowl at the small pewter coloured ball that sat a centimetre below the right side of Gabe's full bottom lip. "It looks like a zit."

Gabe pulled a face and brushed his long fringe away from his forehead. "Had my eyebrow done too. See? Do you like it?"

"Nope, looks bloody awful. Why would you do that?"

"Some people find it sexy," Gabe huffed. "Lee likes it. He says it's hot. He has his tongue pierced which is fucking amazing when he's giving head!"

Greg shuddered at the thought of bits of metal being driven through his flesh. He really didn't understand the desire to decorate one's skin or poke holes in it that anyone under twenty-five now seemed to think compulsory. Gabe's tattoos were ok he supposed, but only because they had become part of the overall package. He choked suddenly, registering what Gabe had said.

"Who the hell is Lee? Are you seeing someone?" He didn't feel a spike of jealousy, honestly he didn't. He definitely didn't harbour any romantic feelings for Gabe anymore and he was perfectly ok with the idea of Gabe receiving a blow job from some wanker called Lee with a bionic tongue. He was crap at lying to himself.

"Yeah, we work together. It's not serious, just a bit of fun, y'know? The sex is good."

"Oh, right. That's good then." Greg didn't know what he was supposed to say, so he settled for "um... Are you being careful?"

Gabe sniggered. "Yes _dad_, I won't get him pregnant!"

"Fuck off," was Greg's reply which came out with rather more force than intended. "Is he a recovering addict too?" Most of the staff working in the youth programme were former addicts that were in a sustained period of recovery. Someone like that would be wrong for Gabe. They could make him slip... "Is he the reason you wanted something tonight?" The DI demanded. "Is he still a user?"

"He's trying really hard..."

"Oh for god's sake, he's the last person you need to be around, I don't care how spectacularly he blows you. You need to stay away from him. Have you used condoms? Is he clean?"

"Really Greg, stop with the fucking 'dad' attitude. I'm not stupid! I'm ready to be with someone. Why can't you just be happy about that after everything...?" Gabe's eyes shone with tears which only made Greg remember how vulnerable the young man really was and didn't reassure him at all about his choice of partner.

"I'm sorry. But if you relapse because of him I will kill him." Greg meant it as a joke, a flippant throw away comment, but their history loomed between them, two men already dead. Gabe swallowed, eyes wide as he considered the possibility Greg might actually be telling the truth. It was terrifying and arousing to have a man make such a promise to you, knowing he could make good on it. He threw himself at Greg's chest, enveloping the startled man in a tight hug.

"I love that you take care of me," he muttered against Greg's neck, sending unexpected shivers of pleasure over the DI's skin. Greg's arms curled around his back, holding him in place for a moment against him and inhaling his scent.

"I love that you let me." He pressed his lips to the top of the young man's head then gently pushed him away. Alcohol and emotion were a bad mix. He rolled onto his stomach to hide his erection and pretended to search down the side of the sofa cushion for the remote control.

"This is fucking brilliant, Greg, how the hell can you not think this is amazing?" Gabe bounced drunkenly around the living room, rocking his air guitar and ecstatically singing along to Black Veil Brides. Greg thought it was ok, but amazing was probably pushing it a bit. He had a hard time distracting himself from Gabe however. Gabe was breathtaking, all long lean lines and subtle muscle, writhing in tight low slung black skinny jeans and no shirt. Greg couldn't remember exactly when he'd lost the shirt but he was too busy admiring the ripple of skinny abs, defined but not enhanced, beneath an acre of porcelain skin to actually care. Gabe's nipple was pierced, a silver ring catching the light as he danced around the room, and for all Greg's distaste for piercings somehow that one sent a tingle direct to his groin. He imagined flicking over it with his tongue till Gabe's nipple was hard against his lips. Christ that was so good it must be illegal!

Gabe tugged on his hand as the music changed to a slower tempo and 'Saviour' started playing. "Dance with me," demanded the younger man, "this is our song. Whenever I hear it I think of you." He pulled Greg to his feet, the tipsy DI swaying slightly as the drunken black-haired youth wrapped himself around him. Greg wasn't accustomed to dancing with another man but Gabe's hands linked behind his neck and he found his own arms snaking around Gabe's narrow waist, hands lying loosely against his lower back. The song was unfamiliar to Greg but Gabe clearly attached great feeling to it. He snuggled against the older man's chest as they swayed to the song, words twining between them, giving the minutes a poignant touch.

_Saviour will be there, when you are feeling alone, oh..._

"You saved me," Gabe whispered against his throat, the light brush of his lips possibly becoming a kiss.

"I couldn't let you stay with him..." Greg's lips rested lightly on Gabe's collar bone then slowly traversed up the side of his neck until they halted beneath Gabe's right ear. The tip of his tongue snaked out and licked lightly over the pulse point in Gabe's neck and the younger man groaned pressing his hips forward. Abruptly the music changed to something harder, heavier and faster and Gabe bounced away from him with a yell of delight at another favourite song and the spell was broken. Greg groaned and sank into his favourite arm chair, adjusting himself discreetly. It was for the best, he knew. They were both pissed, and he was pissed off - with Sherlock, Jenny and his life in general - so making out with Gabe would be a spectacularly bad idea. Didn't stop him letting his imagination drift a little, watching the boy leap madly around the living room to the racket he called music.

Eventually Gabe collapsed in the sofa long enough for Greg to fetch more beer without the danger of being knocked flat by his crazy moves. Gabe grinned up at him.

"Today wasn't all bad. There was this girl..."

"A girl? That's a little out of character for you isn't it? Was she pretty?"

Gabe nodded. "Very. She came to the meeting with her mum. She's only fifteen, but she's been using coke since she was thirteen."

"Wow, tough deal for the family."

"There's just her and her mum. Dad OD'd when she was 5 - prescription pills, not street drugs - he was a manic depressive. She's a fantastic artist. Look..."

He thrust a crumpled scrap of paper at him. Greg smoothed it out on his knee to reveal a small biro line sketch of Gabe, laughing with one hand shoved through his long fringe. It was an excellent likeness capturing a brief moment in time and was quite beautiful for all it was drawn on a lined sheet torn from a notebook.

"It's gorgeous. She has quite a talent to be encouraged. Can I keep it?"

"Yeah." Gabe was an excellent artist himself and often lost himself in a sketchbook. "Rob's asked me to be her key contact," he said softly.

Greg sat up straight, a huge grin on his face. It was a huge responsibility to act as a key contact for another group member. It was a support role that went alongside the official treatment plans and was generally someone who was well into their recovery who could offer encouragement to someone just starting their journey. "That's excellent! You're going to do it, right?"

"I don't think so. I mean, I want to, but today it would have been so easy to slip... I don't think I'm ready."

Greg smiled encouragingly. "You are so ready. You didn't give in today Gabe. You recognised the danger and made the right choice. Rob obviously thinks you'd be good for her, and I agree. Will you at least think about it?"

"I suppose so."

They were quiet for a while listening to the tracks as they ticked over. It was still the pounding rock music Gabe loved but the volume had been turned right down so it became pulsing background music. Gabe shuffled in his seat, eventually pulling a shabby envelope from his jeans and passing it to Greg. Greg turned it over in his hands - pale pink envelope, hand written address. If Sherlock had been here he probably could have given the author's hair colour, shoe size and preferred breakfast cereal just from holding the envelope but Greg went with his best guess. "Love letter...?"

Gabe snorted. "Hardly! It's from my eldest sister Emma. She's living in London, wants to meet."

"Is that good?"

Greg didn't know much about Gabe's family. He knew there were half a dozen brothers and sisters, of which Gabe was the youngest, and a pair of homophobic parents, but other than that Gabe had been silent. He ran away to London at fourteen and had little if any contact with his family back in Dublin since.

Gabe shrugged. "Rob made me write to my parents months ago as part of the programme. Supposed to give me closure or some such crap. Emma says my parents don't want to see me but she'd like to get to know me."

"How old is she?"

Gabe did a quick mental calculation. "Twenty-five. She's working as a teacher."

"Call her?"

"I'm scared. What if she hates me? What if she feels the same as my parents, that I'm a freak?"

"No one could hate you Gabe, you're lovely." Greg blushed, realising he's put a little more emphasis on his statement than he intended. He blamed the beer, took another long swig. "Want me to come with you? I could show her how great I think you are."

"Would you?" Greg's heart melted at Gabe's hopeful look. "I want her to see I'm happy."

"Sure. Call her right now!"

"It's almost midnight!"

"Crap really?" Greg hurried to the fridge and returned a minute later with the bottle of champagne and two whisky tumblers. "This place has no proper glasses," he shrugged.

They stopped the music and turned on the TV so they could watch the countdown, filled glasses at the ready.

"...4...3...2...1... Happy New Year!"

"To sorting out our lives this year..." Greg clinked his glass against Gabe's and hugged him. Gabe kissed his cheek, a big wet smacker of a kiss that Greg wiped away with a laugh even while he was considering kissing him back properly.

"Thanks for helping me. It's my turn to help you."

"Huh?" Greg asked, less than intelligently, reluctantly letting the boy go.

"Do you like me Greg?" Gabe asked shyly, pulling his knees up to his chest protectively. His long fringe flopped over one eye like a shield protecting him from rejection.

"Yes, of course I like you." Greg said cautiously, not quite certain of the context of the question.

"_Like_, like?" Gabe clarified, still somewhat confusingly to Greg who was probably a bit too inebriated to follow the subtleties of normal conversation. Gabe crawled towards him across the sofa and was suddenly straddling his lap, arms locked behind his neck, face inches away. "I want to be your boyfriend. What do you think about that?"

What Greg thought was along the lines of 'hell yes, where do I sign?', but he was a forty-seven year old married man, and that brought certain complications that needed thinking about. "I'm married," was about all he could manage with Gabe's weight satisfyingly distributed across his thighs and his fingers stroking along his hairline making it bloody difficult to think straight.

"You're not happy," Gabe pointed out. "Why stay with her when you could have me?"

"It's not that simple Gabe…" though he couldn't really remember why. For over a year he'd been denying his attraction to the younger man and he was tired of fighting it when the relationship he was supposed to be fighting _for_ was clearly a sham. "I don't know what to do," he told Gabe honestly. "Jen is having an affair. I should be upset, but I'm just relieved. That's wrong isn't it?" Gabe's eyes glowed deep emerald green, innocent in spite of having seen more darkness in the last six years than Greg had seen in twenty years of his job.

"So stop overthinking it and go with what you want, rather than what you think you should do?"

Gabe pressed his full lips to Greg's in a gentle, but determined kiss. It took a moment for Greg to respond, but when he did it was passionate, bordering on violent, the kiss rough and needy and hot. Gabe groaned against his mouth, and the noise was a trigger to Greg's libido, spiking desire straight to his groin. He ran his hands over Gabe's bare back and down over his chest, relishing the hard, muscular planes that felt _right_ rather than a compromise. Their kisses became an intense exchange of lips, tongue and teeth, each trying to consume the other to prove how true, how _perfect_, they were for one another.

It was Gabe, with the directness and arrogance of youth, that moved them forward, when he panted in Greg's ear "Fuck me, please", and Greg, stood, lifting him bodily in spite of the fact he was a good two inches taller than him, and carried him to the bedroom, settling him down on the large bed in the centre of the room filled with the trappings of a boy barely out of his teens. He undressed the boy, worshipping each exposed inch of skin with his mouth, exploring every freckle, mole and scar, until Gabe was keening with need, and only then did he turn his attention to Gabe's cock, taking it into his mouth to taste the want that leaked in a steady stream from his slit. Gabe produced a bottle of lube from somewhere coating his lover's fingers with the cool slippery gel. Greg warmed it on his fingertips before sliding between Gabe's legs to tease at his arsehole, lips and tongue still pleasuring his cock. One finger eased in, two, then three, gently stretching him, opening him up to receive. Greg's fingers sought out the pleasure centre of nerves that would turn him into a gibbering wreck of want, and teased over it mercilessly until Gabe was begging him in filthy words to destroy him.

"My pleasure," Greg breathed, pulling Gabe's lanky legs over his shoulders and bracing himself on his hands. Gabe himself guided Greg's cock until he could press forward enough to breach the tight ring of muscle. He gave Gabe a moment or two then thrust in hard, making the boy scream and claw at his back. "Too much?" he asked breathlessly.

"More," Gabe grinned, throwing his head back and just loving the feeling of having what he'd wanted for so long. Greg pulled out and pushed back in hard, grabbing Gabe's hands and pinning them above his head.

"Good?" he asked. Gabe sank his teeth into his shoulder, a brief, painful, erotic sting that was sucked and soothed away. "I'm not going to last," Greg said sorrowfully, but Gabe just laughed.

"Don't care," he groaned. "You're with me and ohmygod…" Greg slammed into him in a punishing rhythm, aware that he'd be lucky to last more than a couple of minutes. He wrapped his fingers around Gabe's cock and tugged him off with every thrust, trying and failing to achieve any kind of co-ordination, until finally he grabbed Gabe's wrist and demanded he do it himself. Gabe obliged, setting his own pace that complemented Greg's thrusts and thankfully, before Greg lost control altogether, Gabe arched into his fist and came over his stomach. The sight of the blissed out man beneath him was all Greg needed, and with two more vigorous thrusts he gripped Gabe's thighs while he rode out his orgasm.

A short while later Greg pulled the duvet over them and snuggled into Gabe's side, finally content to have the bed mate he'd been wanting for such a long while. "This is fine Gabe, all good…" he whispered into the darkness.

Gabe hummed his contentment, not prepared to think beyond the moment. Just because it was a new year, it didn't mean a new start would work.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: A shorter, darker chapter in the story. Note, trigger warning for dubious consent, rough sex, domestic abuse, suicidal thoughts and miscarriage. Yeah, not a very cheery chapter sorry.**

March 2012

Greg lay motionless in the dark bedroom staring at the ceiling. He had watched the clock steadily flick through two hours of wakefulness, last glance showing 5.14am, and he was no closer to sleep. He ached all over, shoulder actually painful, taste of blood in his mouth. His or Gabe's? Not sure. In spite of everything he had promised, it had happened again. He had _allowed_ it to happen again. The figure beside him was curled near the top of the bed in a foetal position, bowed protectively in on himself. Gabe shifted slightly and whimpered.

"I hurt you," Greg said tonelessly into the dark.

"It's nothing. Its fine," rasped the young man, clearly finding it uncomfortable to speak.

Greg flung himself at the boy, wrenching him onto his back and looming over him. The boy cried out in pain, eyes squeezed shut.

"Don't say that. Nothing about this is _fine_, do you hear me? _Nothing_!" Greg hissed. The room was too dark to see the extent of Gabe's injuries but he had been merciless in his anger. There would be bruising and blood, maybe even broken bones. Other injuries... "We had sex..."

"I noticed," quipped Gabe, a spark of his usual self flaring briefly.

"We shouldn't have."

"Probably not." Gabe agreed, wincing as he unfurled, pushing himself up to the headboard.

"You didn't say no?" It was a question. Greg couldn't be sure there had been consent, and the sickening thought had been foremost in his mind, clawing its way to the top of the pile of vile half memories from the previous evening.

"I didn't verbalise any objections. You needed to work it out. I allowed it."

"Don't get smart with me Gabe," he said, bitter anger rising again, "I'm asking you if what we did - _what I did_ - was _rape_?"

Gabe's eyes flashed. "I would _not_ have allowed that! I'm not the same frightened little kid you bit. I'm not scared of you and what happened was because I _allowed_ it! Better it was me to be hurt than your wife.

"I would never..."

"Evidence would suggest _never_ is not a word that applies. You said 'never again' before and yet here we are... Three times in a year isn't so bad. I've suffered worse."

"You're keeping count," Greg said flatly.

"Yeah well. When the man you love loses it so badly you wonder if you'll wake up in hospital it kind of sticks in your memory."

"_Jesus_. I arrest people for this. Domestic abuse." Bile is choked back down, the realisation that this is what it amounts to. "I'm sor-"

"Don't you fucking _dare_ apologise. You don't have the right to make me a victim again. This was _my_ choice. I was in control. Don't even think that I couldn't have thrown you off and taken you down if I hadn't wanted what you were doling out. You know I could."

Greg nodded into the darkness aware the other man couldn't see. He was right. Gabe was younger, fitter, stronger, and not afraid of Greg even at his most confrontational. Whatever the facts of the previous evening, it would have gone differently if Gabe had fought back. It was no more comforting to think about.

"I need a cigarette."

The silhouette of the young man moved, hissing under his breath. Cracked ribs, or the violation of his arse by a man who should always show him care. The bedside lamp glared suddenly, blinding him temporarily. The rustle of a packet, click of a lighter, soft sound of both hitting the mattress in front of him. Gabe exhaled, long, slow, controlled.

"You should apologise to Mycroft. You went through him to get to me and left him a bit battered. Probably best not to tell the rest of the Pack you went psycho on your Alpha; it won't inspire confidence in the leadership."

"You told him to let me through, that I wouldn't hurt you," Greg accused.

"Can't always be right, huh?" Gabe said flippantly. He inhaled deeply, suddenly coughing out a sob of pain. Definitely a rib or two, and his throat hurt.

Greg's eyes adjusted and he abruptly wished he could turn off the lamp, unsee the devastation he'd wreaked on his lover's body. Blackening eye, split and swollen lip, livid purple bruising around his neck, a pattern of violence across his torso in shades of maroon and violet. Invisible injuries evident in the way he held himself carefully, the minute gasps and flinches.

"I-I..."

"Yep, all you. Did it help? Make it all better?"

Greg looked at him with naked horror. "I need to get you to the hospital. X-rays... Oh god, you could be bleeding internally... I-"

Abruptly he slid from the bed, crouching over the bin and retching noisily, burning bile and sour alcohol spouting from his gullet. Gabe watched impassively, silently smoking until the older man fell back on his heels, the back of his hand pressed to his mouth. Silent tears slipped down Greg's cheeks unnoticed and his hands shook so badly he could barely lift the remains of his cigarette to his lips.

"The doc here can patch me up and then I'll change; it'll start the healing process at least. Like I said, I've had worse in the name of love. A hospital would just ask questions that you don't want to answer. Ruin your reputation as a fine upstanding copper if you got arrested for beating up your dirty little secret."

It was an old argument that they were no closer to resolving after a year of sleeping together. Mycroft knew but no one else, and Greg had worked hard to keep it that way while he tried to work things out with Jenny.

"It's not like that," he said brokenly, fighting to light another cigarette. "Why do you keep taking me back?"

"Masochist? Or maybe I just want to be with you and I'm hoping one day you'll decide you want more than a shag every time things aren't going well for you. You've had a shit year Greg, I get that, and if this is what it takes to make you feel good then…"

"Don't! Please, just don't say this is acceptable… I didn't mean to…"

"Look, I have work in a couple of hours, I need to sleep. There are people in the world who deserve my help more than you do right now. Close the door behind you."

Dismissed, Greg left the room, picking up his clothes as he went, taking the last of Gabe's cigarettes too. He couldn't go home. He didn't have a home any longer now that Jen had thrown him out and changed the locks, suitcase sitting mournfully on the porch until he picked it up. He'd yelled a few choice words through the letter box, and then slunk away to the pub until kicking out time, when he'd staggered to the Haven in search of comfort.

It would've been fine if Mycroft had kept his fucking big beak out of his business, but no, the twat had to accost him in the corridor and start lecturing him about pulling himself together and getting on with his life. What fucking life? Life was too hard, too damn hard to bear, and he'd had enough of it. He wanted out too. He wanted to take the fucking flight from the roof, same as Sherlock had two months earlier, selfish bastard. Mycroft might be able to move on from that, but not Greg, not after the way the case had unfolded after his death. Sherlock was a brilliant man and Greg, _his friend_, had let him down, taken his eye off the ball due to his own personal issues and allowed himself to be swayed into believing the lies. Mycroft's interference was the final straw on a difficult day, and the resulting meltdown had left Gabe beaten and broken.

He emptied his suitcase onto the floor in the huge living room, pulled on pyjama pants and a ratty t-shirt, found his pills and set them on the kitchen counter, and propped the black and white picture against the coffee canister in front of him. Rooting around in the kitchen cupboards he found a bottle of bourbon, didn't bother with a glass, taking long swallows from the neck of the bottle and choking on the fiery liquid that seared his raw throat. He perched on the bar stool and began methodically popping pills from the various packets like shelling peas – antidepressants, sleeping pills, blood pressure medication. It was therapeutic to see the pile grow in front of him and the bottle slowly drain. When the last foil packet fell to the floor he folded his arms on the counter and rested his chin on his forearm, staring at his brightly coloured way out of it all.

"It had to be yesterday," he said aloud. "How could she forget you? Did she forget, or is this just her way of making sure I hurt?"

There was no answer, but movement behind him that he didn't acknowledge. Bare footsteps crossed the room and stopped in front of him on the other side of the breakfast bar.

"Is this your answer?" Gabe asked, surveying the array of medication strewn across the surface. "It'll make you ill at best, won't kill you, you know that. Your wolf will panic and fight its way out as soon as it feels the danger and the effect of all this will be minimised. You'll puke a lot, your muscles will burn and your liver and kidneys will suffer damage, but you won't die, I can guarantee it. I have experience, as you know."

"I thought you needed sleep?"

"Didn't trust you to be on your own. Clearly with good reason." Gabe plucked the photo from the table, one long fingertip tracing the alien shape; head too big for its body, a shadow of limb bones and skull. "Was it a boy or a girl?"

"Girl."

"Always knew you'd leave me for a girl one day. Wasn't quite as I expected."

"I didn't leave you; I just put things on hold for a while. I had to try to make things work, for her sake."

"You weren't even certain it was your child."

"I would have loved her anyway. A family, a normal life… It was why I married Jen in the first place, even though I knew it was a mistake. She hates me now, and I don't blame her really, but why yesterday? Why tell me our marriage is over on the day our daughter should have been born?"

"Don't you think she's hurting too?" Gabe said harshly. "Poor Greg, everything is about _you_ isn't it? Every fucking thing that makes you feel bad, _only_ affects you. Your wife isn't hurting at the loss of her child and her husband, Mycroft isn't still traumatised by the death of his brother, I'm not upset that I'm kept in the wings as a fuck-toy instead of a partner… Nope, only Greg Lestrade is allowed to be messed up by the bad stuff in his life. Climb out of the fucking bottle Greg and realise there are other people out there who need your love and care. Mycroft's right. Grieve for what you've lost and move on, but stop acting like you're the only one who has any feelings on the matter. Some of us still fucking love you even though you're a monumental twat."

Greg stared blearily at the skinny boy in front of him like he was seeing him properly for the first time. He'd filled out a little more, had started using weights to try to bulk up his scrawny frame. The tattoos were an ever spreading artwork across his pale skin, and more metal gleamed in his ears and on his face than ever before. Bruises were blooming all over his body, blending with the ink, and he stood cautiously like he was in pain, but he was beautiful and confident and justifiably angry, and Greg knew that he loved him more than anyone or anything, but it was all too much…

"I'm sorry."

"Stop being sorry and start putting things right. I'll always be here for you but I won't be used anymore; not for sex and not as a punching bag. When you figure out what it is you want, let me know. Are any of those pills painkillers?" Greg mutely shook his head, still reeling from the younger man's outburst. "Fine. I'll be with the doc. See you around."


End file.
